LEGAL DISCLAIMER:MacTavish, Price and the other characters you'll recognize from the Call of Duty: Modern Warfare series are the property of Infinity Ward/Activision/Sledgehammer Games/Raven Software.

This story is an AU. Contains mature language and violence.

A/N: For the COD-a-thon 2018 fanfiction contest. Proof that there are no new ideas, especially from me. But there was this one time (not at band camp) when SmashInterrupted's Sleeping Dogs inspired creation of a new OC that I had a lot of fun with but hadn't yet put in a fic. Here's an attempt at marrying SD's events, the resulting drabbles and making the whole mishmash work (sort of) with the MW3 canon.

Mistakes were and will be made, liberties taken. There unfortunately wasn't much time for betaing this, but the first few chapters were, by Sassy Satsuma. Thanks to Lisbet Adair and SmashInterrupted for their support as well :-)

Best enjoyed with a liberal suspension of disbelief and/or knowledge of the locations and cultures mentioned. Thanks for reading, reviews are very much appreciated.


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PAKTIA PROVINCE, AFGHANISTAN

The front door of the building with the red crescent sign was flung open long before they got anywhere near it. Landing a helicopter nearby didn't make for a subtle approach.

Heads poked out, gesturing to others inside.

"Get his legs!" shouted Price, knowing Nikolai couldn't hear a word. Crouching down behind the unconscious form lying across the rear floor of the MH-6 Little Bird, he hooked his arms underneath Soap's, hefting his upper half into his lap - head lolling, his limp arm trailing an IV line. Gathering up the tubing, Nikolai set the flat empty bag on Soap's midsection atop the blood-soaked bandage, for all the good either was still doing. As Nikolai dug his heels in and pulled, Price scooted his arse forward, Soap's cool, clammy forehead rolling against his. "Come on, lad," he said in MacTavish's ear, not as much encouragement as it was desperation. Soap had been in and out of it at first, but for an achingly long time he'd just been out, his color and responsiveness fading away. MacTavish winced a bit. "That's it. Now stay with us."

Once Price got his feet on the ground, they lifted MacTavish up between them, moving as quickly as they could. This roused him further, his face crumpling, though they couldn't hear his moans over the shriek of the helicopter powering down, the rotors still spinning over their heads.

A trolley had appeared outside the door, along with people in white coats, more spilling out of the doorway by the second. Price barely paid attention to them or their exclamations, joining the crush of bodies to lift Soap up onto it.

"What is this?"

"Oh my god!"

Grimacing, Soap stirred, cracking his eyes open at last. Thank fuck, Price thought. MacTavish's weary blue eyes wandered, taking in the sea of strange faces hovering over him as they wheeled him inside, to a chorus of gasps.

Price was aghast. "You said you knew a place, Nikolai. This was the place you were talking about?" The waiting room was full of women, many of whom were pregnant, with small babies, or both. The staff inside were every bit as dismayed.

"Well, I knew some NGO had a clinic out here... " Nikolai's voice dropped to a whisper meant only for Price. "He's not going to make it anywhere else."

Soap had a look at the women in question, who were pulling their veils over their faces, chattering wide-eyed among themselves. Exhausted, he dropped his head back down to the black vinyl and reached out to grab a handful of Price's shirt, tugging him downward. "Price… " He mumured weakly.

Price leaned in, walking along with the moving trolley. "What is it, son?"

A sideways look through half-open eyes. "You took me to a bloody gynecologist?"

A balding dark-haired man with glasses and a blue plastic apron was charging toward them, pulling on disposable gloves along the way. Price patted Soap's shoulder, with a smile he didn't really feel. "Was time for your checkup anyway, lad."

"What happened?" Blue Apron demanded, stepping in front of Price while his staff began wheeling Soap away, pushing through a set of double doors.

"He was stabbed- "

"How long?"

" -about an hour ago. He needs help right now!"

"Yes, he certainly does. Do either of you know his blood type – or yours? Is it the same by chance?"

"Yes, mine is the same," said Nikolai.

"Good. You-" he leveled a stern, practiced look at Price. "Wait here. You," he waved a beckoning hand at Nikolai. "Come with me."

A bustling crowd surrounded the trolley, obscuring Price's view of it. Pulling on blue surgical gowns, edging him further out of the way. As gloved hands reached up to hang IV bags and switch on the large round exam light, the double doors swung shut in his face.